drawing_a_blank: (Default)
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, ZEKI.

FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 04.01.19.76

*** Z has joined 04.01.19.76
<Z>Hi. This is Zeki Barrone. I might be home or I might be out or I might be questioning my existence and sense of self while staring into the cold, starless vacuum in the mirror.
<Z>Please leave your repressed memories, forbidden knowledge, the memory of a horsehair sofa, or that one confusing and shameful summer in Costa Rica, and I'll get back to you.
certaininequities: (oh no not again)
As soon as Norman was sure the Neapoliteens - Reira, Rachel, Sonic, and Dib - were okay, he ran a file over his claws the way he'd begun to every morning, grabbed a few blueberry bagels and a bottle of ginger ale from the kitchen, and made his way to the 38-8.

"Zeki," he called out, knocking at the door. "It's Norman."

Date: 2022-03-28 04:04 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] certaininequities
certaininequities: (dreams of our fathers)
"Aghk-"

He shifted a little, nearly dropping the provisions, then managed to hug her back. There was absolutely nothing to her, he thought idly, and the hug felt a little odd, as though her body couldn't decide where it actually became solid. He realized that, like Bruno, she was likely discovering she didn't have much time left to physically interact with people, and his heart went out to her. He pulled her a little closer, tucking his chin onto her shoulder.

"Okay." Telling her everything would be fine was a lie. Telling her things would get better was, too. But still, he had to reassure her of something, even if it was just telling her that she could cling on to him in the middle of her doorway. "... Okay."

cw: real ptsd hours

Date: 2022-04-03 03:41 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] certaininequities
certaininequities: (the mirror tells me lies)
"I don't want to be that," she said... and then ... and then he was being pushed. Pushed in a way he thought he'd left behind forever. Panic seized Norman as he took the backseat in his own mind again, and the woman he'd been holding actually melted into his torso like - well, like a shade. But he wasn't in any position to be logical or rational.

NO. PLEASE - PLEASE DON'T-- NOT AGAIN, PLEASE....!

Date: 2022-04-06 01:15 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] certaininequities
certaininequities: (tell me I didn't --)
Going to the mirror was quite possibly the worst thing Zeki could have done. That fear intensified, accompanied by a flash of a thought, a memory: Follow the cold shiver running down your spine.


He wanted so badly to close his eyes, to not see his own panic-stricken reflection. He was terrified that any moment his expression would shift to that triumphant sneer... But when he opened his mouth, it was his own voice that spoke, plaintive and broken as he'd ever felt at the Goblin's heel, and drowned out by Zeki's voice wailing in his mind.


I need to get a grip: t's over, it's done, this is Zeki, it's only Zeki, it's safe, you're safe, I'M SAFE, WE'RE SAFE. ... Zeki? Zeki, can you - is this - what the hell is going on?

Date: 2022-04-11 09:21 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] certaininequities
certaininequities: (oh please don't)
Of course I'm here, it's my body, it's my brain, Zeki, what just happened? I can't do this. There are so many reasons this is really, really not good for either of us, whatever it is.

A part of him knew he should be trying to calm her down, to be the better person here, but he was too distraught at having another voice in his head, even if it was as un-Goblin-like as it could get, and his body betrayed both of them, despite whichever was truly in control. His heart started to pound, and Zeki would feel the room tilting on an invisible axis between Norman's hands and knees as she crouched on the floor. Every joint began to tense and lock.

If she had never experienced the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder, she was about to first hand.

How do we stop this?
certaininequities: (oh no not again)
As soon as Norman was sure the Neapoliteens - Reira, Rachel, Sonic, and Dib - were okay, he ran a file over his claws the way he'd begun to every morning, grabbed a few blueberry bagels and a bottle of ginger ale from the kitchen, and made his way to the 38-8.

"Zeki," he called out, knocking at the door. "It's Norman."

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